I ‘ad a right little chuckle

when I ‘eard he was in th’ infirmary.

His med’cine didn’t agree with ‘im.

My man big Tommy Watkins must ‘ave

put the wind up his son too, and that

pretty little morsel the boy’s got up

the duff. Tommy says they’ve scarpered

back to the girl’s parents, in some

toffee-nosed nook of the big smoke.

I’ll ‘ave the toff’s ‘ead on a stick,

and ‘is spoilt brat son for a matchin’

trophy. Nobody sneers at Mike.

Let’s see ‘im strut around

like a stuck-up faggot

when Tommy’s disfigured ‘is spawn.


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